Big Largemouth and More Action

It might have been the last Brian and I fish together for a while, not just because he hunts during the fall. Both of us, though, felt confident things will work out, but for the time being, he's getting Thursdays off, while I get Tuesdays and Fridays. I've lost my every other Sunday. Took paid time off today, and I'm just very glad we got up before dawn, met before sunrise, and rode over to Clinton Reservoir. We fished it some this past late spring and summer, and have got a large portion of it mapped out in our heads. 

It made a difference today. We still have that far shoreline in the photograph to explore, as well as the waters near the dam, but today, my hooking a smallmouth bass where that occurrence made sense, made all the difference. The bass leapt off the hook, but I soon understood that by trolling the deep end of the slow-sloping flat (in about 10 or 12 feet of water), we could probably find more fish. It wouldn't matter if the Storm Hot 'n Tot was always on target. The idea was to troll extensively and persistently. There were acres out there to cover. 

It worked pretty quickly. The largemouth I caught was 21 inches. I tried to weigh it, but I don't think I was able to do that correctly. The crankbait's hooks had done no visible damage, so there was nowhere to hang the bass on the scale hook from the mouth. No way was I going to damage the fish to do that, so I tried hanging it on the gill flap where the scale hook would do no harm. I got only four pounds, 11 ounces on my 15-dollar Berkley, and I doubt that was accurate. As you can see, the fish is chunky. And all the length-to-weight conversion charts put a 21-inch largemouth at over five pounds. 

Brian trolled up a little pickerel on the Hot 'n Tot I lent him. I lost three other fish on the troll and missed a hit. One of the fish I lost impressed me as bigger than the bass I caught. I was sort of playing with the braid with my left hand as I held the rod. Whatever I hooked immediately took off on a run like a hybrid striper's--the line burned my hand. 

Brian and I have had 30-inch pickerel on the brain this whole time. That's what I think it was--a really big pickerel taking off on a power surge that unfortunately ended with the hooks pulled free. 

I guess we did pretty well today, especially considering the fish on and lost, when there was not a cloud in the sky. I noticed no more than a few very thin strands of cirrus. For the most part, absolutely blue from all four corners of the horizon. Later on in the day, my wife and I hung out at Round Valley, enjoying a meal from Meditarranean Seafood, she reading a book and me shooting photos, while the sky overhead had no trace at all of clouds. 

So a classic cold front day. As I drove to Brian's house with blue just beginning to gather in the east, temperatures were as low as 56. When we got to the reservoir it was 64. When we left around 10:00 a.m., it was 74. It got warm later today, but bass and pickerel react to so much sun  And yet every fish we hooked was out in sunlit water.

Fishing means making effort. Getting up when the alarm goes off at 4:45. Or some other time much earlier than that. It means passing between the unpleasant certainties of the work routine, to a freedom that always promises a better life. And there in-between, before you get to where the fish make sense for you--and even in a way you feel gratitude in direct relation to them when you release them--you run up against doubts that threaten the fishing you go ahead and do. Because it's not about the resentments that become doubts. Not about others you think are that resentment's object before that resentment seems to disguise itself and turn on you. Only, all along it was about your own life, and before the water accepts you back, you feel you're only wasting your time. But it's always the water that wins. 

Mountain Lake